


Formality

by lightningwaltz



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Loyalty, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Power Imbalance, Resolved Sexual Tension, consensual polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beshelar is distressed by an attraction to Maia. He's even more aggravated when he realizes the attraction is mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Formality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).



> In their yuletide letter, my wonderful recipient Cricket_Aria brought up several ideas for this pairing that ended up really inspired me. 
> 
> The main request was for Beshelar and Maia generally mutually pining for each other, generally being awkward, and trying to figure out how to make a move within all the confines of hierarchy. This story kind of took on a life of its own, and I really loved writing about them on two different levels: as emperor and guard, but also as two young adults trying to figure out how to deal with being attracted to someone. Like my recipient, I was also really amused by how Besehlar was discomfited and kind of fascinated by Maia. It ended up being really easy to see how that might turn into a very intense crush.
> 
> I also enjoyed this line from Cricket_Aria's yuletide letter; "'the other guards and Csethiro are watching this all 'For goodness sake, you two, will you just talk it out and then get into bed together already? " You see, in the novel, I liked watching Maia figuring out how to have personal, loving relationships when he outranks literally everyone in a ritual-heavy court. He does have close friends, but many of them are around him all the time. It's would be a very intensely close-knit group after several years had passed (and in this fic I have him and Csethiro as very close friends, because I liked their straightforward conversations in the latter parts of the book.) So how would he manage to pursue a private relationship in this context? 
> 
> I also thought it was fun to explore what Maia might be like several years into the future (and how he might be perceived by his guards.) Here his reign is well-established, he is much more knowledgeable, and a bit more confident. But life never stops throwing challenges at you, and I greatly enjoyed writing how Beshelar and Maia handle this particular challenge. I hope you enjoy.

“We would like some chamomile tea, please.”

Edrehasivar’s voice didn’t shake, nor was it encased in a sigh of relief. And yet, the request for a favored soothing drink hinted at his current disposition. Beshelar found this unsurprising. The emperor was always apprehensive when setting a pet issue before the Corazhas. Today's vote had nearly split clean down the middle, although Edrehasivar and Csevet had predicted that from the start. After all, the initiative of a permanent embassy in Barizhan would warrant debate. This same court that had been famously isolationist just five years ago. 

Before the vote, Beshelar would have been unable to say his own opinions about much of this. This was not from a lack of earned knowledge on the matter. He had stood guard during many of the late night research sessions, after all. He had been present during furtive discussions about how many votes had been secured. He knew that the emperor had not been sleeping much at all this week, and he knew that today's results had, in many respects, been decided weeks ago.

Above all, he knew knew that assassinations often followed on the heels of controversial policies. Therefore, after the Corazhas had been adjourned Beshelar had accompanied Edrehasivar back to his room, and he had stared at every single passerby. He was always keen to spot dangerous eddies of discontent, and low tides of insurrection. So far he saw none, but scarcely an hour had passed. This court could be subtle, but treacherous.

But, for now, they could all retreat to the emperor's quarters. Therefore, in this particular moment, Beshelar watched as Edrehasivar sipped his tea from a finely wrought, delicately decorated cup. Steam rose up, and vanished into the curves of his private, delighted smile, and Beshelar decided all the fuss had been worthwhile. 

During their return, the emperor’s retinue had peeled away until very few remained in these chambers. Edrehasivar, of course, as well as his empress, Csethiro Drazharan. The two of them were bent over that desk, along with Csevet. Cala was just outside, guarding the door.

It took Beshelar a while to remember to count himself.

“There are already a great deal of letters pertaining to the result of the embassy vote.” Csevet didn’t sound apologetic, exactly, but there was something like pleasant resignation about his demeanor. “We may be here for a while.” 

“We expected nothing less,” Edrehasivar said. 

There had always been something pleasant about the emperor’s interactions with Csevet, or the rest of his staff. He had a solicitousness that could not be mistaken for weakness. Something about Edrehasivar’s benevolence reminded Beshelar of an ancient long-standing chapel. A carefully chosen foundation, a deliberate process of creation, and unchangeable in all sorts of weather. The result was something no less pleasant for all the work that went into maintaining it.

Beshelar knew that if she shared this observation with anyone- even Cala- he’d be told he’d missed his calling as a rather terrible poet. However, few people could observe someone for hours and remain unaffected by them. This was what he thought, at least, when tempted to accuse himself of an overabundance of fondness.

Csethiro was eyeing the letters the way she might face a dueling opponent. “Perhaps we should open them, and slot them into two categories; those who are happy and want something, and those who are unhappy and want something.” 

Edrehasivar and Csevet admitted that this would be a practical approach to the matter. Beshelar watched the process with interest, and was pleased to note that there was a larger pile from well-wishers. During the procedure, it became time for the midday meal. Edrehasivar called for a recess and told Csevet to take a break. 

“I will also need to leave soon,” Csethiro admitted a little while later. Her speech always immediately took a tumble into informality whenever they were engaged in private conversation with her husband. (Once, she had quite calmly stated she would use it around the nohecharei, since she felt a certain amount of familiarity around those who have witnessed the consummation of her marriage. Then she had laughed at the sound Beshelar had tried to suppress.)

“I remember,” Edrehasivar said. “How do you think the scholars will be today?” 

“Brimming with impractical ideas as always,” Csethiro said. Despite the sardonic nature of her words, Beshelar could not fail to notice the way she sat up in excitement every time this topic arose. 

The empress had partnered with the princess Vedero, and the two of them were founding a college specifically for women. From what Beshelar could see, Vedero was the one with the passion for education, while Csethiro was much more preoccupied with the process of management and leadership. The concept of the school seemed approximately as controversial as the embassy, perhaps because it would be open to noble women. However, there was just enough sentiment in favor of it that the enterprise had been approved by the Corazhas. Since then, Beshelar had remained at the margins of meetings between the emperor and his wife and sister. He had rarely seen three more widely disparate personalities, but their combined enthusiasm was strangely infectious. Beshelar generally looked forward towards working during those times.

“Speaking of which,” Csethiro nudged her own chair closer, and some strands of her hair whispered across the documents on the table in front of Edrehasivar. “I have someone I would like to add to our list.” 

“I see.” The emperor’s ears leaped slightly. The exact timing and angle of this gesture occurred only when he was amused and wanted his companion to know it. He opened up a compartment in his desk, and brandished the object in question. Like Csethiro’s raising of the topic, the paper was shockingly unassuming. 

Two years ago, Beshelar had had guard duty during a shocking conversation between Edrehasivar and his future empress. Once the dam had burst on their awkwardness and propriety, their betrothal had involved much frank and forthright charting of the particulars of their marriage. The discussion pertaining to fidelity had been the most shocking of all. It had begun with the two sitting across this same desk, discussing their parents’ marital dissatisfaction. Many of Varenechibel IV’s marriages had been unhappy, and this was a known quantity to most who resided in the palace. However, in the course of the conversation, Beshelar had discovered that many of Csethiro’s relatives were prone to infidelity and fits of jealousy ("there's a really maudlin ballad about my great-aunt and her disastrous affair," she had said, dryly.) In a conversation that inched forward in fits and starts Edrehasivar and Csethiro had both admitted they wished to avoid both scenarios. More than that, they had wanted to be genuine partners to one another; honest and true in the ways that mattered the most. 

They had arrived at an unconventional method for handling the issue of extra-martial dalliances. The emperor and empress had a list of the individuals that interested them, and they were permitted to sleep with these same people if the situation arose. Any other individuals were considered off limits. Likewise, each spouse could veto someone that was politically disadvantageous or personally irritating. 

Beshelar still remembered how he had pressed his teeth together, mostly to avoid having his jaw drop open. Towards the end of it Edrehasivar had said Csethiro's marriage and future had been decided on a vote, but he wanted her to feel as though she had options in life. ( _’Unlike Empress Chenelo,’_ was the thought that hung in the air, unspoken.) All at once, Beshelar had understood everything.

Although he had borne witness to its creation, he had expected the two spouses to handle it with utmost solemnity. Instead, they almost made a game of it. Sometimes they shook their heads at each other’s taste, other times they responded with enthusiasm. Beshelar had never been able to see the names on it, but he noticed that it had grown, while other names had been scratched out. They always referred to it in an oblique sort of way, and Beshelar wondered if the other guards understood its contents. He was too mortified to raise the subject with any of them. From context, he knew Csethiro had acted on at least one of her selected extra-martial partners. It was difficult to know whether Edrehasivar ever had, and Beshelar wasn’t sure he wanted to be certain.

“Here.” Edrehasivar set the list across from Csethiro now, while she picked up a pen. Beshelar listened to the scratching of nub and ink curling over parchment, and wondered what name was taking form. All he could see was the usual urgency of the empress’s script. Sharp and certain, like the stroke of a sword.

“Is she acceptable?” Csethiro smiled, and reached for his hand. 

Edrehasivar made a big show of scrutinizing the name, but the slight tilt to his lips betrayed him. “If you _must_.” He didn’t pick up the pen. When he spoke again, his tone lost its teasing tone. “I confess I had wondered. You two seem to smile at each other a great deal.”

“If she is also interested I’m sure we will spend many hours together conjugating ancient Ethuverazhin.” 

They laughed then, and Csethiro helped herself to Edrehasivar’s tea. The ink dried on the list, and the discussion circled back to embassies and schools and other dangerous things. Beshelar thought he could breathe again. When the time back to leave, she gave Edrehasivar an affectionate pat on the forearm. Shockingly intimate, and over as soon as it started. She tapped the list, her slim fingers landing next to a specific name on Edrehasivar’s list.

“Just a reminder, Maia” she said, and Beshelar cherished hearing that name. The emperor’s true name. Even alone in the dark, he could never make himself say it. But it sounded nice from the empress’s lips, and that would have to suffice.

“Csethiro,” Edrehasivar said, amused, sheepish, but not annoyed. He held himself very still. 

“Farewell, Beshelar. I hope you have a good day,” she said. She looked at him them, her laughing gaze as pointed as her tapping on the paper. He pushed the implications away so forcefully that he couldn’t hear his own polite farewell. 

_Surely not._

Her bright, purposeful departure left Beshelar quite alone with Edrehasivar. The emperor remained where he sat, drumming his fingers lightly on his table, his eyes closed. Often, when left alone, Edrehasivar appeared to take a moment to listen to the silence that embraced him. He knew that any delight, here, was shot through with tension. It was the pleasure of holding a strand of thread between your hands, and pulling from both ends until it snaps. Edrehasivar rarely had any quiet moments, after all.

Beshelar was also keenly aware of the absence of their small social circle of royals and staff. Their lack reminded him that their lives normally flowed into one another, even while they all orbited the emperor. Cala was, in many ways, Beshelar's other half. He knew Csevet’s favorite snacks, just like he knew Cala sometimes impulsively bought them for Edrehasivar’s secretary. He knew the exact tone and timber of Kiru’s sense of humor, just like he knew Telimezh could sleep like the dead before bursting into full alertness. He knew that the empress Csethiro had the spirit of a soldier. He could not regret her marriage to Edrehasivar, because Beshelar always felt that the emperor was safe in her presence.

In moments like this, he also remembered that, every day, he woke up wanting to spend just an hour alone with his emperor. How strange and egocentric to desire the time of someone when the entire empire clamored for them. 

“Sometimes we wish we could actually _go_ to Barizhan with these ambassadors. It could be interesting,” Edrehasivar said aloud, his voice somehow pale and washed out in the encroaching silence. “But there are so many reasons that can’t happen.”

It sounded like a thought accidentally spoken aloud, but Beshelar knew that time and experience had eroded any tendency towards involuntary reactions. Lately, if Edrehasivar said something, he intended to be heard. 

Which meant he was addressing Beshelar. 

He wished he had a modicum of talent for small talk or light conversation. So many others in court would be able to fill the emperor's ear with correctly chosen, engaging words. Beshelar liked to believe that the demands being a Nohecharis had burned all other talents right out of him. However, the existence of the other guards proved this to be a self-serving fantasy. After all, Cala and Kiru conversed quite easily with the emperor. He wondered if Edrahasivar ever regretted the times that it was just him and Beshelar. 

“We have been to Barizhan,” he said, surprising himself. 

It wasn’t a crucial piece of information in any way, but Edrehasivar acted as though it was. He turned his upper body towards Beshelar so quickly that it was a reminder that, below all his hard-won reserve, the emperor was young and enthusiastic. “Truly? When?” 

“We were quite young,” he said, almost as an apology. “Our father was posted there on a temporary diplomatic mission.” His father had had a scholarly bent and was known for his fluent Barizheise, so he had gone as an official interpreter and cultural specialist. He had insisted on his wife and son traveling with him.

Beshelar watched as Edrehasivar’s lips thinned out. He was probably filing through his mental abacus, using the scant details to discern whether Beshelar had been there while Empress Chenelo resided there. At some point he must have decided against it, because his next question took a different track.

“What was it like?” Edrehasivar asked.

“In truth, we mostly remember the trip home.” 

“Oh?”

The border had been a nightmare of paperwork and passports. Though they had traveled under royal decree, the agents at the border clearly wanted to give an impression of partiality. He remembered sitting in an elegant room, with a carpet that contained a map of the known world. He had looked for his hometown, and could not find it. This had struck him as an injustice, but he didn’t think he’d thrown a temper tantrum.

“It took a long time to get back into the country,” he said, lamely. 

“Were you so eager to leave?” Edrehasivar asked, and Beshelar warmed himself by the light of the emperor’s near-laughter.

“No. We were just ill-equipped to deal with boredom back then. We are better about it than before.” 

Edrehasivar nodded, looking more approving than that statement warranted in Beshelar’s opinion. 

Beshelar wished he had more to offer. As far as he knew, he was the only one among the staff who had gone to Barizhan, and therefore he could have distinguished himself in the emperor’s eyes. Instead, his answer had been about as tedious as that long-ago wait to return to home.

Though, once invited, the recollections nudged his brain, splinter-like, attention-seeking. The servants who laughed with him, and always joined the family at religious services. The unfamiliar food he had disdained until hunger bade him eat. The food he suddenly realized he liked. Dawn light scraping over the plains, melting the frost (yes, it had been winter. This he remembered quite suddenly too.) The music that he knew was different from home, music that he never heard again until the great Avar’s visit.

How he had been there, so briefly, and then he had left. 

“We do remember one occasion,” he said, while Edrehasivar picked up an envelope.

“Please, tell us.” The emperor carefully pried the seal away, opening the seam of a letter. 

And so Beshelar carefully plodded his way through a description of a holiday. The meal he remembered eating, the songs, the lighting of candles to encourage the sun’s return. He remembered walking to a celebration. His face and ears had nearly frozen on the way, but he also remembered being welcomed into a warm domicile, golden with lanterns and laughter.

“Thank you,” Edrehasivar said, and he meant it. He always meant it. 

“Just a year after that we began training to become a Nohecharis,” Beshelar added, privately appalled at his continued offering of unneeded biographical detail. Even more appalled at his need for this conversation.

“No more feasting after that, we suppose.” 

The memories of his earliest days in his apprenticeship had a completely different flavor than the scraps from Barizhan. He could easily describe the itinerary of entire days, because, for many years, they were all the same day. The pallet on the floor, the morning exercises, the prayers, the lessons, the evening exercises. Food was the only thing he could not recall, though he knew they must have fed him. Otherwise, he remembered his bare feet whispering over cool stones, holding practice weapons in his hand, knowing he would be unlikely to ever serve an emperor. 

His memories burst into life with with the recollection of Edrehasivar emerging from his pre-coronation vigil. Compared to the other reminiscences, this was as sudden and startling as an unexpected wound. Sensation and color clamoring for attention. Everything about Edrehasivar had seemed silvery and gray in that exact moment, like he had been a penitent more than a fledgling emperor. It was the first time Beshelar had stopped thinking of the instability of young rulers. It was the first time he began to realize they might survive and thrive for decades.

“No, Serenity.” It had been quite a long time since he had used Edrehasivar’s title in this conversation. A clear misstep. “Life became very different after that point.

“Still, we are glad you made that decision.” The emperor was not reading his letter. “We wanted to become a Nohecharis once.” 

Beshelar knew that, when the _Wisdom of Choharo_ had crashed, Csevet himself had roused Edrehasivar out of genteel poverty and certain isolation. It was still difficult to imagine the emperor as doing anything other than waking up in this same room, conferring over missives with Csevet, reforming education with Csethiro, and being kind to his own nohecharei. It was impossible to imagine him doing anything other than scandalizing and inspiring the whole empire on a regular basis.

“When did you have this idea?”

“Just after being sent away after our mother’s death.

“Then you would have been too old to be accepted as a novice,” Beshelar said. Then his mind caught up with him, and he made a choking sound. 

“ _Don’t_ apologize,” the emperor said. Now he was truly laughing. 

“Serenity.” Beshelar was bewildered but he could not, in good conscience, say that he was upset. 

“Kiru and Telimezh will be here soon.” There was an odd note in the emperor’s voice. “We should have asked you to sit while we talked.” 

Beshelar had nothing to say in response to that, but he knew he must try. “There is no need.”

“Well, no, but it might have been nice. After all, it’s always good to speak to you,” the emperor said. 

It was a simple compliment, but not one Beshelar had ever been given in his adulthood. No one clamored for his conversation. He turned the words over and over in his mind for a week, until he’d worn all the edges off of them. Until everything he had felt in that moment scattered away, like leaves on the ground.

*

It was one of the strange paradoxes of the nohecharei. Theirs was a life of self-abnegation, forever devoted to their emperor. And yet, being close to the sovereign, they accrued property all the same. Edrehasivar was a particular generous emperor, giving gifts at birthdays and other holidays. 

When they died, their belongings could not be willed to a family member. However, they had a choice in how their personal effects might be incorporated into the state, through charities or other means.

Thus, there was always a week when all the nohecharei were required to go and sign their continued approval of their wills. If they wished to make changes, this was their opportunity to do so. They were all likely to die in the same moment, at some undetermined point in the future, directly after their emperor died. Therefore, it was logical to review their wills at the same approximate time.

Every time Beshelar took part in the review and signing of his will, he remembered another ritual that had charted the course of his life. When he had committed to the life of a nohecharei, he had spilled his blood on an altar. He knew, by now, that that that was likely an echo of a pre-historic religious ceremony. He remembered learning that he was going to be the Nohecharis of an unexpected, painfully young emperor. The cut on his palm had made it real. The spoken vow was a mere formality after that, and the the words of his oath were a mystery to all but the nohecharei; Not even the emperor was permitted to know them. 

He was legally bound to Edrehasivar, throughout life and death. But now, as he signed his name to his will (he made no changes this year), he realized once again that this was no longer a matter of mind. His heart was fully engaged in his vows as well. His heart had been engaged for years 

And so he signed his name to his will, in a confident stroke that nearly tore the paper. Time passed quietly, after that, until it was time for him to be on duty. Cala found him, and they made their way to the emperor’s chambers. Beshelar had every reason to anticipate a normal evening.

“I believe that someone must have told his Serenity that we updated our wills this week.” Kiru kept her voice low, even when her replacements were quite close to her. Beshelar appreciated her deference to propriety. There was no way her voice could carry to a curious ear. All the same, he wished she had said nothing. 

“How is he?” Cala said, either lacking Beshelar’s reluctance, or his concern for their emperor overrode all else. Beshelar resisted the urge to scoff. He resisted the urge to be grateful that Cala would ask and say the things he could not. 

“He’s not outwardly upset, but I believe he is concerned.” 

There was no more to be said, as everyone assembled could come to educated conclusions. Cala took up Kiru’s place at the door, and this made Beshelar happy, as he always preferred this arrangement. It made the most logistical and tactical sense. Cala’s spells were best employed in areas with a significant amount of space. He would be able to see an intruder coming, and prepare accordingly. Things might prove more complicated in an area with objects to impede him. However, Beshelar’s own skill with weapons and physical combat was suited to close quarters. 

Telimezh left and Beshelar entered Edrehasivar’s chambers. By this action, all gods and elves alike would consider him on duty to his emperor. Therefore he took part in his usual procedure. His eyes took the room- the area of his post- familiarizing himself with the surroundings. True, these environs rarely changed appreciably from day-to-day. All the more reason to take them seriously. All the more reason to flush out potential blind spots, and objects that might be transformed into a weapon (either by himself or an intruder.) 

Save for betrayal, complacency was the worst sin that a Nohecharis could commit. 

The mirrors were one of the rare objects to merit his approval. The servants kept them clean with all due diligence, and this made Beshelar’s life easier. It meant that their reflections revealed most areas of the room to him, however imperfectly. Still, he could not disregard the possibility of an enterprising combatant smashing one of them, and holding the pieces to Edrehasivar’s neck. He was no less happy about the latest thick tome on Edrehasivar’s bedside table. He knew the emperor was privately delighted that the princess Vedero esteemed him enough to send him some of her books. It was easy to focus on this happy fact whenever Edrehasivar smiled slightly, and thumbed through yellowed pages. But Beshelar still tended to fixate on how a book would be a decent bludgeoning object in a pinch. The nightly cup of tea beside the book was a neutral object. He could see no steam rising up from it, and therefore no one could use it pour near-boiling water on Edrehasivar’s skin. 

Above all, Beshelar hated the bed’s canopy with a passion. The curtains were ostensibly sheer, but so thick as to be opaque, the effect only amplified by the ornate and shimmering embroidery that looped in patterns over the fabric. Yes, it shielded his eyes from certain sights when the emperor was abed with his empress. But it would be absolutely disastrous if some enterprising usurper or assassin decided to set it alight. The grilles would ventilate some of the smoke, but not enough. Otherwise, should the bed catch on fire, the effect would be chaotic in the extreme.

“Good evening, Beshelar.” True to form, the emperor had a greeting for him even though it was not strictly necessary. Anyone would be justified in treating a guard the way they might treat a sword mounted to the wall. 

“Serenity,” he bowed without thinking about it. His bones and muscles knew the correct angles to maintain, and the exact length of time to remain in this position. They knew when he should stand straight again.

Despite having decently predictable patterns of behavior, Edrehasivar was one of the few changeable things about this room. This distressed Beshelar more than anything else. Time and ceremony had scraped excess physical expression from the emperor, the way rain erased gilt from statues. But Beshelar could read him the way he read a room. Thus, he noticed the slight paleness in Edrehasivar’s cheeks. He noticed the way he looked at Beshelar as though he was memorizing his features. Beshelar’s fought the urge to run his fingers over his own face, seeking out emotionally revealing facial tics. 

He wondered which of the nohecharei would have broached the subject of their wills, here, in this near-sanctuary. Telimezh, no. Cala, would, if pressed. Kiru might or might not. He knew their own unique reactions the way he knew every nick and scratch the handles of his blades.

Even now, he could taste the question in the back of his throat. It lingered in the same way he often tasted smoke from the hypothetical fire an assassin might set to Edrehasivar’s bedsheets. 

_Are you distressed because we will die when you die?_

It was the kind of thing that would preoccupy his emperor’s thoughts, even if the requirements of nohecharei had always been a known quantity. If he asked, Edrehasivar might demure. Or maybe, in this liminal space of rest and relaxation he might admit the truth. Beshelar would rush to say it was his duty, and that he would accept gladly his own mandated death should the emperor predecease him. He would fight and fight for his emperor until the limits of his body made it an impossibility. This would not be a comfort to Edrehasivar. Either he would think Beshelar was making a dutiful, yet passion-less answer. Or- more likely- he would see the sentiments that lay beneath and grow even more troubled. 

Beshelar knew that cowardice stayed his tongue, but he decided he caused less harm this way. 

So they passed a few hours in a silence that seemed plagued by ghosts and ritual. Three separate times Edrehasivar stood up, paced, stared into the fire, and then returned to his bed. On his fourth such venture, Beshelar felt compelled to speak. 

“Serenity,” he began, agonizing as he always did when initiating a conversation. “You seem restless.” 

“Oh, yes, just a bit.” 

He suspected one of the others might suggest meditation at this particular moment. But, somehow, the idea of watching his emperor sit in serene contemplation was too much to bear. 

“Would some kind of physical activity make you tired enough for rest?”

That caught Edrehasivar’s attention, even in the midst of pacing away from Beshelar. He turned around sharply. “What did you have in mind?” 

The pause between his first and second word was so telling that Beshelar’s ears betrayed him, flying up to rest against his head. 

“We simply- That is to say- We merely-…!” He stopped, took a breath, tried to recall Edrehasivar’s behavior in troublesome court sessions. “We might be wrong, but we have reason to believe you have never been formally trained in self-defense.”

“Do you mean…” The fingers of Edrehasivar’s scarred arm twitched very briefly, his face went blank.

Beshelar's blood must have drained from his entire body. “No, we didn’t meant it like that. _Not at all_.” Not for the first time, he wondered why he ever spoke at all. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should follow the sterling example of certain historical nohecharei who had taken vows of silence. They had sacrificed their words in order to better serve their emperors and that idea seemed appealing right now.

“Then what? Do you think we are in danger?” Edrehasivar asked, his tone still a little anemic. “Well, one might be justified in thinking that after two attempted coups, we suppose.” 

The emperor’s worries sometimes tapped into stranger, darker moods. He was never malicious about it, however. He could have pointed out that Beshelar’s arm had been torn to shreds when he had stopped Tethimar. Edrehasivar could have told him that was reason enough stop being presumptuous about his combat abilities. Other emperors would have done so. During his training, Beshelar had been drilled repeatedly on how to handle emperors of all moods and temperaments. _‘You are likely to be derided and demeaned. You might be mocked or humiliated. You are to protect the emperor all the same. This protects the state.’_

“We apologize,” Edrehasivar said now, sounding like he meant it. This didn’t happen enough for it to sound like an attempt to slip free of someone’s anger. “We know that you are you trying to help us.” 

It was also true that no one had thought to train Beshelar in being receptive to kindness. 

“We offered it because we think it’s a skill worth having. And we have noticed you like to acquire knowledge.” He nodded towards the book. Somehow, though he lived in a gilded fishbowl, the emperor seemed shocked that Beshelar had been observing his usual behavior. “And, for better or for worse, this is the one thing we are knowledgeable in.”

“We understand,” Edrehasivar said, a bit slowly, though not unkindly. Beshelar wondered what he has said that had changed the emperor’s demeanor so thoroughly. “Alright, let’s attempt this.” 

The emperor listened closely, as Beshelar explained the very basics. He delineated the areas where one could cause the greatest amount of pain with the least amount of effort. He explained what to pinch, what to scratch, and what to hit. He did so as clinically and as dispassionately as possible, in the hopes that it seemed quite different from the other types of violence Edrehasivar had had to endure. 

“Do you have questions?” He asked. Beshelar’s throat demanded water, and it occurred to him that this was the most words he had ever spoken in a row. He was not meant to be a teacher. 

Edrehasivar's arms were folded, though not in an effort to protect himself. Mostly he appeared to be lost in concentration. Beshelar knew he would never take this stance in public. 

“This will be difficult to express.” 

“We are listening.” 

Edrehasivar looked off to the side, but when he looked at Beshelar something he saw seemed to encourage him. “When Tethimar rushed at us, we felt frozen with… fear. How does one combat that, while also remembering all of the things you just taught us? How does one put all this together while being shocked?” 

“We know what you are trying to say.” Beshelar found himself walking forward. The closer he got, the more he saw how Edrehasivar warmed to the simple fact of being understood. “It is difficult. One needs to practice this regularly, until it becomes habit.” 

“Oh no. So one night of instruction is not sufficient to make us into a fearless soldier?” 

“Well, no.” _We didn’t even spar. I just talked._ He knew not to say it though. “We think you are fearless in other ways, though.” It was something he thought, yes, but something he would never have said in the past. Halfway through expressing it, he was overcome with the urge to do something undignified like rolling under the bed.

But then the emperor reached for Beshelar’s hand, and his fingers were cool and soothing. Beshelar did not pull away. 

“Thank you, Beshelar."

*

Edrehasivar insisted on regular meetings with his nephew and presumptive heir, for reasons political as well as personal. In the warmer seasons, they often met for walks outside. Therefore, it caused a slight amount of concern when the emperor received an earnest letter from the Idra. The prince was requesting to meet Edrahasivar in his private chambers rather than their usual location of the gardens.

After finishing, Edrehasivar placed the letter on his desk. “I wonder what this entails,” he said. Because, after all, in a court like this it could mean a great deal of things. 

The emperor and Csevet traded ideas, while Beshelar remained silent. He did not play a role in the mechanics of running the state, unless one considered him a decorative piece of armor. However, in spite of himself, he pondered the relationship between Edrehasivar and the prince Idra. He’d been on duty during many gift exchanges, earnest discussions, and the sharing of advice. When Idra’s younger sisters followed him in, like a pair of exceptionally friendly ducklings, no one could doubt that they were all a friendly, albeit unconventional family. 

By now, Beshelar was certain Idra would rather die than be propped as a potential figurehead in a coup. However, it had been attempted once and, no doubt, there were some who might harbor notions of trying it again. Idra was bashful about it, and he and the emperor worked to promote their mutual affection until the whole court accepted it as face. The more Edrehasivar reigned- the more rivers kept flowing and crops kept growing- the more discontent diminished. And yet, this would be a lingering source of tension for the rest of their lives, through no fault of their own. Whenever Beshelar thought about it, he was struck by the pangs of loneliness his emperor never seemed to express. The emperor was an individual prone to affection and concern, but the state overlaid everything he did. It would do so for the rest of his life.

Edrehasivar briefly looked up from his work. His eyes met Beshelar's, their gaze lingered for longer than expected, and then they broke contact. Beshelar tried to remember the feeling of the emperor's hand in his.

The morning unfolded in a series of letters, private meetings, and still more letters. There were some days when everyone in the whole vast empire seemed to demand something right that instant. Beshelar knew that this Edrehasivar’s job- indeed, it was his god-chosen duty- but he was incensed regardless. This then morphed into irritation with his own sentiments, because Beshelar knew they were inappropriate. He inhaled in and out, taking in the scent of ink. After a sense of calm set in, he realized he had been mimicking the emperor’s meditation breathing patterns. 

Once again, Edrehasivar looked up. Once again their eyes met. It was impossible not to wonder if he had noticed Beshelar’s agitation and how he had calmed himself. But he had the grace not to mention it, and Beshelar’s gratitude was immense. 

To his relief, Idra arrived soon after this, and Beshelar hoped the meeting would be a distracting (but not stressful) one. The prince’s attire indicated that might be the case. He was not dressed for a ceremony, but his clothes were a bit more formal than he tended to wear for garden conversations. If Beshelar had noticed this, he knew Edrehasivar must have taken note, too. 

However, their present conversation started out like many of the others. Inoffensive topics batted back and forth, and their speech immediately dropped into informality. They discussed Idra’s schooling and Edrehasivar’s plans for the summer solstice festivities. They even veered into a _shockingly_ spirited conversation about the weather, which Beshelar knew tended to happen when one or both was a bit nervous. 

Finally, Idra’s hands came to rest at the side of his chair. “Thank you for honoring my request for a formal meeting, cousin Maia.” 

(As always, Beshelar privately reveled in hearing that name.)

“Of course.” Edrehasivar simply nodded his head. “It’s no trouble at all. Though I’m curious about what you are going to ask.” 

Idra stared down at his own clothes. Some of the jewels in his tashin sticks caught the sunlight, momentarily blinding Beshelar. He was wondering if he could unobtrusively shift to the side, when Idra looked up again. 

“I was a bit dramatic, wasn’t I?” 

“I think you’re just taking something seriously,” Edrehasivar said. “It's fine.”

“I’ve come to talk about the embassy in Barizhan,” he said, and Beshelar realized that Idra’s thoughts on the matter were an unknown quantity. At least to him. It was quite likely that he had discussed the issue with Edrehasivar when Beshelar was not around. Sometimes it was easy to forget that many things happened outside of his purview, despite his enmeshment within the royal circle. “I am happy it was approved. However, I suspect it will take a great deal of preparation before anyone heads to Barizhan.’ 

“You would not be wrong.” Edrehasivar’s voice was wry, but curious.

“By the time all the staff travels to the physical location of the embassy, I will have gained my majority by then.” Idra drew in a breath, and his back seemed to straighten even more. Beshelar wondered how this was possible. The prince already had impeccable posture. “I would like to go with them and work there.”

Beshelar counted his blinking before Edrehasivar spoke again. One, two, three…

“Cousin.” Whenever he needed to disappoint a polite person, the emperor always sounded like this. It was nearly indistinguishable from how he spoke to the perpetually intransigent. Beshelar took pride in his memorization of the difference. “We already have three individuals selected for potential permanent ambassadors.” 

“Oh, no.” Idra’s face colored, slightly. “I did not mean it like that. I would like to go with them as an one of their assistants. You can’t be sending one man to hold down this embassy, correct?” 

Edrehasivar admitted that, yes, this assumption was accurate. “However, you do realize you would be beholden to whoever is selected as ambassador, right? In something this delicate, expertise will have to outweigh rank.”

“Yes, I expected that.” Idra grew even stiller. It was the look of someone who was endeavoring not fidget out of strong feeling. Beshelar realized it was a family trait. “That’s why I want to go. I wish to gain much more experience than I have, and to contribute to my homeland. I keep reading up on how this will benefit our trade routes. I want to do something more than just _exist._.” 

He stopped, as though his many words and thoughts had well outpaced his lungs. He also looked a bit stricken. 

“You do a lot here, Idra,” Edrehasivar said kindly. “You take your education seriously, and you’ve been a great help to me and to your sisters.” 

“Thank you.” 

“But you want something all your own, don’t you?” Edrehasivar’s voice dropped very low, as though to keep this thought from drifting through the grilles. Beshelar wondered if he should not have heard this. 

“One could phrase it that way,” Idra admitted. “Though I really do want to go. Genuinely so. I think I could do a lot of good there.”

Beshelar remembered that Edrehasivar was currently barred from this exact same journey.

“I will have to think on this, but I am inclined to support it,” the emperor said at last. Idra smiled, unabashedly. “However, you must be prepared for me to put this to a vote before the Corazhas.”

To his credit, Idra took this well. “Of course. Since I’m still your heir.” _But you might have a child of your own by then._ No one spoke this aloud, but Beshelar could practically hear it.

“Precisely. However, I suspect they can be persuaded. I will need to demonstrate that the travel routes are quite safe.” They would also have to worry about people attempting to influence Idra away from his uncle. “I think they will also have to be persuaded that the goblins are, ah, quite invested in guest rights and you’re unlikely to be harmed by them.” 

“Yes, I know!” Suddenly, as if he was discarding a mask, Idra also discarded much of his formal manner. Perhaps it was due to the conversation being more successful than anticipated. “Ino keeps reading the same book of goblin fairy tales over and over. There is one about a god in disguise, who becomes a guest in a noble household, and they attempt to murder him…”

The conversation continued in this vein for some time (evidently it was quite a long story), before circling back to the reason for Idra’s arrival. Ultimately, Edrahasivar tasked the prince with preparing a proposal to lay before the Corazhas in a month’s time. Idra left in higher spirits than he arrived. Edrehasivar remained pensive for quite a while. 

“We wonder how many will say we are trying to get rid of our heir,” he said, very quietly. 

“Serenity?” Beshelar asked, feeling lacking in eloquence after that flurry of conversation. 

“It will make us sad, even though we should be accustomed to being continuously controversial.” It was one of those moments in which Edrehasivar smiled, even though nothing seemed especially funny to Beshelar. “Although we think our cousin will also be irritated to be regarded as a pawn, when the reality is so much more complex.”

Beshelar had the distinct sensation of falling through the ice into a deep lake below. Drifting, flailing, trying to decide the right course of action in a small window of time. 

“All emperors are controversial,” he said, right when the emperor must have been giving up hope of a response. “At least, they’re all controversial to someone. If you did nothing at all, you would still be accused of idleness.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” Edrehasivar said. Beshelar suspected the emperor’s childhood had given him a distaste for inaction. Better to achieve something, rather than stand still in fear. 

“Also, if anyone goes so far as to attack you, we will fight back. That’s why you have me.” Beshelar said this all very quickly, before realizing he had somehow abandoned his formality. Edrehasivar was polite enough not to verbally comment, but something in his eyes indicated he had taken notice. “That is, that’s why you have _us_ ,” he said, decided to let the emperor decide what he meant by ‘us.’ 

The emperor had an expression that was indistinguishable from amusement but, somehow, Beshelar thought there was more to it. His suspicions were proven correct when, after offering his usual thanks, the Edrehasivar stood up. 

“On a related note, weren’t we learning self-defense?” 

Beshelar had never promised continued lessons, but he had never discarded the idea. And it might be nice to do something other than talk about hypothetical situations. However, they quickly encountered some fundamental problems. The idea of attacking his emperor was anathema to Beshelar, even in the context of a sparring match. As for Edrehasivar, he quickly admitted that the thought of rushing at one of his guards seemed like a horrible abuse of his authority. They spent so long on this topic, that Beshelar had forgotten one basic fact. 

“You wouldn’t be mock-attacking anyone just yet, though,” he said abruptly, after the conversation had petered out and they were left staring at one another. “It just occurred to me that you have yet to learn basic fighting stances.”

“That seems achievable for now,” Edrehasivar admitted. “Maybe over time we can work up to glaring at each other aggressively.” 

Inexplicably, Beshelar was reminded of the rare bits of love poetry he’d heard. The operas he had attended. There always seemed to be a plethora of lyrics about the lover’s gaze as a weapon. Of waiting in agony for one disdainful look from a beautiful pair of eyes. 

Perhaps that’s why, when he helped Edrehasivar achieve the appropriate stance, his heart pounded as if they had been practicing the most intricate kind of sword work. The emperor had given him permission to touch him, and it made him think of holding Edrehasivar’s hand just a few days ago. It make him thinking of throwing himself in front of an attack, and bleeding out on the emperor’s robes. 

To sooth himself, he rambled much more than usual, mostly about the principles of combat. How the stance was the foundation for all that followed. Edrehasivar appeared to take more enjoyment in it than was warranted. Beshelar tried not to think of that determined look, that near-smile, the feeling of the emperor’s clothes beneath his hands. 

“We now understand why you have so many years of training,” Edrehasivar said.

"Yes, we spent a year on this." Beshelar circled around him, and they stood face-to-face. Despite his distress, the level of formality had plummeted so much that he felt comfortable enough to reach forward and correct the placement of Edrehasivar’s shoulders. 

And then his hands lingered. They stayed and stayed, and Edrehasivar did not request him to move away.

It was a position made for kissing. 

Beshelar’s mind immediately boiled with all the reasons this would not happen. He could not, and Edrehasivar would not. It was quite similar to their difficulties with sparring, in fact. And if they made any misstep, they would still be locked into the relationship of emperor and Nohecharis for the rest of their mutual lives.

It shouldn’t happen, but he wanted it to happen. And when Edrehasivar’s tilted his head forward and brushed their lips together, it was so fleeting. Their absence, when the emperor pulled back again, made more of an impression than the kiss itself.

“It’s the end of your shift quite soon, isn’t it?”

Beshelar nodded, trusting his own voice even less than usual. 

“Then let’s postpone this… this conversation. It’s worth doing correctly.” 

Beshelar said something- he would not be able to recall what, later- and when his shift ended he went right back to his quarters. He lay in the dark, mostly still as a statue. His lips burned, somehow. He fell asleep and dreamed of the day he made his vows.

*

Life continued apace. Much like the hour hand on a clock, it was difficult to see things moving and changing, but if one looked away, suddenly progress had been made. Every day saw Edrehasivar and his advisers chipping away at issues pertaining to the embassy in Barizhan, while Idra listened in. The empress Csethiro continued to work on her school. So many political issues simmered, rising or sinking based on fate and work.

And, for several days, Beshelar was never alone with the emperor. He knew that they had kissed and he now realized that he absolutely must be on the emperor’s list of approved dalliances (he couldn't see Edrehasivar deceiving his empress in anyway.) He tried to imagine his name being written down in elegant swirls. He imagined the ink drying, and the paper being placed into a drawer in the desk.

Even if he had been inclined to suppress the incident, he would not be able to do so. Whenever he entered the room, Edrehasivar’s eyes went to him instant. His gaze often flicked over to him, as insistent as someone tugging on his sleeve. 

Beshelar mentally praised himself for his own restraint. He schooled his own face to perfection. He never looked at the emperor, unless bidden to do so (and Edrehasivar never ordered him to do so.) 

He was so skilled at this stoicism, in fact, that Cala took notice. He raised the subject during a quiet dinner in their quarters. 

“It’s hard not to think that…” Cala veered from the subject for several long moments, but Beshelar took no comfort in that. He knew that Cala could be quite forthright in battle. When he attacked, he went in for the kill. “You and the emperor are acting strangely around each other.” 

“No.” That was all Beshelar would say. Could say. 

“He doesn’t seem offended, so what-”

“ _Cala_ ,” Beshelar said, before returning to his meal. Wishing he could bury his face in it and avoid this conversation. 

His partner refrained from pressing the subject, but he was not a subtle person. His eyes kept returning to Beshelar, considering him, and sighing a little.

“Besides, you clearly have drawn your own conclusions,” Beshelar said at last, unexpectedly wanting tea even though he hadn’t had that in years. It was the first night in a long while in which he and the emperor would be alone together, and he had the horrible suspicion that the evening’s events would shape the years to come. 

“So I have.” Cala looked like a man torn between laughing and shaking his head, but he abstained from either. Instead, they completed their meal and returned to the emperor’s chambers. 

Even though Beshelar and the emperor had become accustomed to brief yet intimate conversations, there were still many hours that passed without conversation. This was particularly true when he stood guard at night. There was no point to extended discussion. The emperor needed sleep, just the same as anyone else. Beshelar would not deprive him of it. He tried to remind himself that the emperor might wish to rest tonight, and nothing else. 

But, when he entered the royal chambers, Edrehasivar was standing and facing him directly. Beshelar’s first reaction was a nauseous sort of delight. His emperor only had that stance that when he was about to make a decision that would set the course of policy for months on end. 

“We kissed each other,” Edrehasivar said. "We are sorry it's taken so long to discuss this. We also know that if we don’t discuss it, we might live for decades in trepidation. That sounds exhausting to us.” 

The past few days had been like those taxing early weeks in which Cala and Beshelar had endeavored to avoid friendship with Edrehasivar. Somehow worse, in fact

“We agree,” he said, and that small concession lifted an anvil from his chest. Breathing became easier. Almost a little _too_ easy. He thought he might be panting.

“What do you want from us?” Edrahasivar asked, and his nerves were evident in a single twitch to his ears. All the same, he watched Beshelar with singular, compassionate focus. 

“We do not wish to-” It was terribly difficult to finish his sentence, particularly with the way his teeth were grinding together in pure distress. He wondered if his emperor could hear it. He wondered if the sound spoke well enough for him. 

“You do not wish to overstep,” Edrehasivar said. 

Beshelar lips must have been glued together. There must have been locked together by some cunning, invisible, now misplaced key. The best engineers in the country would be unable to save him. So he inclined his head up and down, in a rough approximation of a nod. 

“Deret Beshelar,” Edrehasivar said, as if that was an idea all its own. It was enticing to hear his full name spoken aloud in such a way, in this context. “Beshelar we have never had cause to question your discipline. Not ever, and especially not now. And yet…”

“Serenity?” Beshelar’s voice sounded like a thin thread of silk. _Please, tell me how to make amends._

“We wouldn’t mind, terribly, if you overstepped in certain circumstances.” Edrehasivar drew in a breath that seemed to come from the deepest reserves of his lungs. Having heard this exact sigh before, Beshelar knew what would happen before it did. He clenched his fingers to avoid covering his ears. “That is to say, I would not mind if you overstepped in these circumstances.” 

“ _Serenity._ ” He repeated. Knowing he would hear this made it no easier. His eyes traveled everywhere; the closed doors, the silent grilles, the disinterested night shoving up against the window. The clouds were icy and distant; a pale sweep across fragile moonlight. They would see all, and they wouldn’t care. 

Edrehasivar was still speaking. “In fact, one might even say I desire it.” 

They were safe and they were undisturbed and Beshelar had no recourse but to look at his emperor. By day, the emperor sometimes gained illusory height, bolstered by the trappings of royal regalia. He had also seen the way the emperor sat at his desk, and seemed to retreat inside himself when receiving news about tragedies within his kingdom. In such moments, Beshelar imagined he could see the entire empire resting on Edrehasivar’s head, as heavy as any crown or diadem.

Here, now, neither thing was in effect. Edrehasivar was just another person in a night shirt, even if his night shirt was made of the finest materials. It wasn’t sheer, but Beshelar might as well be able to see through it, to the skin below.

“If you don’t feel likewise, I will have no harsh feelings,” Edrehasivar said and Beshelar no longer heard the machinations of monarchy overlaying his every word. He looked like someone hungry for contact. Emotional and physical contact, and the unsteady dance between both. Beshelar realized it would be an unkindness to use hierarchy to sidestep everything the emperor was offering. 

An unkindness to Edrehasivar, and an unkindness to himself. 

“Serenity,” he said, because he couldn’t disregard everything. And then, before the emperor could joke that was the only word Beshelar seemed to know, now; “Do I have permission to touch you?” An impertinent question. An even more impertinent crash into informal language. 

The ensuing look of surprise was not an unfamiliar one. Beshelar caught sight of it during each of Edrehasivar’s birthdays. It was sometimes in evidence after stray, unexpected compliments. In this moment, this was the most pronounced it had ever been. Knowing that Edrehasivar had expected to be rebuffed but had been brave all the same, gave Beshelar a desire to thwart unhappy expectations.

“Of course, Beshelar. That would be… welcome.” 

‘Welcome’ was a bloodless sort of description for this, and Beshelar wondered which word Edrehasivar had wanted to say at first. He kept pondering this as they drew closer. First one step, then another. Then his hand lifted up, and he fit his palm to the side of Edrehasivar’s face. It was an expanse of skin and bone that he had never expected to feel, any more than he expected to hear his emperor swallow like that. Because of him. His left hand soon mirrored its twin, and Beshelar found his thumbs caressing the temples of the emperor. 

More importantly, he was making Edrehasivar’s eyes fall shut, his face even out into something as serene as his gods-mandated epithet. He hadn’t fully registered the tension there, until these small touches erased them. 

Beshelar had had every intention of making certain Edrehasivar initiated the kiss but found himself drawn forward as if he had been ordered. It had been a long time since he had done this, and for a second he reeled at the sensation of lips on his own. But then they began to move together; pressure and release. It was slow and languorous, and it ended in their mouths opening and their tongues meeting. The emperor tasted like chamomile, and Beshelar wondered if it was treason to know this. 

One of his hands slid down, wrapping around Edrehasivar’s shoulders, and the emperor leaned in as though it was the most comfortable space in the empire. Edrehasivar's fingers were rather long, and they splayed out over Beshelar's sides. First they settled into the space between hip bones and rib cage. Then they began to move; cautious, then careful. Curious then craving. The emperor was probably creating wrinkles in Beshelar’s uniform, and Beshelar’s head was too full of sparks and shaky happiness to care. He was watching the room, watching the emperor’s face, but it did nothing for the heady rush in his veins. This feeling of being drunk and not drunk at all. 

“Would you…” Edrehasivar paused when their mouths broke apart. There was a ruddy glow to his face, and it was obvious even in the gas lit lamps. Beshelar’s gaze traced the curve of his cheek, remembering how it had felt beneath his thumb. “Your eyes were open all that time weren’t they?” 

“Yes?” Beshelar said, and immediately regretted his tone, even though he was surprised Edrehasivar would expect anything less. “When I am on duty, I have to guard your person at all times. Relinquishing my sight would be foolhardy.” 

“Ah, I see.” Edrehasivar’s tone was a little flat. It was hard to escape the notion that Beshelar’s answer had been correct and incorrect all at once. 

_Thou fool. That was an appropriate thing to say to your emperor, but not to a man immediately after you kiss him._

He stopped berating himself, because this was how they were meant to live. They were meant to speak two languages, one flowing on top of the other. Hierarchical necessities forming the base, but offshoots of affection rooted their way in. These hidden currents were as real and important as impersonal appearances. This was still a new dance to him, but Beshelar was learning the steps. And so was Edrehasivar, judging by the way that slight irritation gave way to amused affection. 

“Also,” Beshelar began, wonder if he was daring enough to do this. “Also, it wasn’t a trial to keep my eyes open. Your face is nice to look upon.” He was sure his ears were glued to the side of his face at this point. 

“Beshelar!” Edrehasivar let out a mock gasp. “I believe you are flirting with me.” 

“Perhaps.” His molars ground together for the second time tonight, but he smiled all the same. “Yes.” 

“Then would you like to keep your eyes open while in bed with me?” Edrehasivar looked as though he might laugh a little, and Beshelar leaned in, wanting to hear it. Instead, he received an even tone. “That is a genuine question. You may say no.” 

Beshelar didn’t expect harm from his emperor at any point, but he was surprised at how pleasant it was to have his well-being considered. He remembered that Edrehasivar had once dreamed of being a Nohecharis. For a moment, Beshelar thought he might have done well at that. 

But that unformed daydreaming gives way, to the full meaning of Edrehasivar’s question. They would not just be lazing around in that bed. Not to start with at least. If they pushed ahead, they would be taking a leap, when Beshelar’s typically preferred to march forward, slowly and confidently. 

“Yes,” he said, because sometimes leaping still felt wonderful. “But only if we draw the canopy curtains back.”

Edrehasivar raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any questions. They just grabbed the cords, and slid the curtains until they piled up on either side of the headboard. This action revealed blankets and pillows, and the space where the emperor dreamed and worried. It was a place that Beshelar had never dreamed of touching. 

By day, undressing the emperor would be a nightmare of layers of cloth and bejeweled accessories. At least it was easy to remove the nightshirt, as Edrehasivar quickly proved. He then strode forward, grabbed Beshelar’s face in his hands, and kissed him soundly. Beshelar had previously been worrying over undressing (if the hypothetical assassins manifested now, it would be hard to battle them while naked.) But he still had all his clothes on, while his emperor wore nothing, and the disparity was so against nature that he started to pull off his own clothes. The trousers and undergarments came off in an inelegant rush, while Edrehasivar slid Beshelar’s shirt. It went up and up until it came in contact with their lips and they had to stop kissing. They both had to stare.

“Well, look at you,” Edrehasivar said, just as Beshelar blurted his second most pressing thought; “You look wonderful.” 

( _How could I be so fortunate_ , was his most pressing thought, but he kept this close to his own heart. Although he suspected Edrehasivar could taste it as they kissed.) 

Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall exactly how they ended up on the bed. He would only be able to recall the rush of movement, and the two of them side-by-side. Legs tangled, his hands in Edrehasivar’s hair, while the emperor’s lips moved up Beshelar’s throat, and back to his lips. There were scars on the emperor’s body and, even in this glimmering haze of pleasure he recalled the ugly force of his anger when he had learned how Edrehasivar had been treated by his cousin. Now, he brought the emperor’s scars to his lips, and kissed these memories of pain with a ferocity that might embarrass him by daylight. Edrehasivar froze up, for an instant, but then something about him gave way. He sighed Beshelar’s name. He kissed him again and again. And again.

Beshelar had kept his eyes open all the while, but it was increasingly difficult. So he rolled Edrehasivar onto his back, his legs on either side of the emperor’s thighs. He was reacting less like a warrior in defense of his sovereign, and much more like a young man eager to touch all of his lover. By daylight this might bother him, but right now his self-recrimination lessened each time Edrehasivar sighed, the sounds seeming to grind out of a deep reservoir of contentment. 

“Wait. Hold on,” Edrehasivar said, his words slurring into a kind of mumble. It made sense. Beshelar had just wrapped his fingers around the emperor’s cock. “It just occurred to me you should probably call me Maia in situations like this.” 

_No, no, no. How? No!_

“But, your Serenity-!” Unaccountably, Beshelar’s fingers were still sliding up and down his emperor, each movement making his emperor arch his back. He was holding onto Beshelar’s shoulders, though they occasionally slipped off. Like he couldn’t hold on hard enough, and the force propelled him away. 

“I know- ah, _yes_ \- I know. It’ll be confusing, but-” Edrehasivar ( _Maia_ ) clearly had no compunction about letting his eyes fall closed. Therefore, his trust in Beshelar was equally clear. “But we can figure it out. _Later_. But it will make me happy if you do.” 

It made something low in his stomach tremble, but Beshelar also admired the way his emperor had forced all those words out. All that effort to make himself understood. So, reveling in the obscene pleasure of it, he whispered Maia’s true name up against his ear. The emperor climaxed quite suddenly, muffling his cries in his partner’s shoulder. Beshelar said nothing at all. He was content to hold Maia, touching him gently, almost reverently. Amazed that this had happened. 

Beshelar lay there, taut and rigid, sweat sliding down his shoulders. He thought that there would be a need to change the sheets, and he listened as Maia’s breaths evened out. It was nothing like meditation but there was peace to be found here. Without a doubt, Maia’s grip was self-assured as he tugged Beshelar back into an embrace. There was nothing tentative about his kissing anymore. He seemed to have memorized what Beshelar liked, and he seemed to know what to do so that they flowed together. 

Beshelar pressed his lips against Maia, wondering if he could ever get enough of this. Wondering if this was gluttonous behavior. The emperor’s hair was messy, and sticking to his temples in places. Disheveled, and devoid of clothing, he seemed like any other person, any other lover. And that’s what made him dangerous, particularly as his hands began to stroke Beshelar’s sides. Then they wandered further, and lower still. 

“Wait.” Beshelar’s fingers clasped around Maia’s wrist. He exerted almost no pressure (that would be unfathomable, still), but the emperor stopped. 

“You’re not ready?” he asked, so genuinely inquisitive that it hurt Beshelar to explain himself. 

“No, it’s not that.” His hands shook, wanting to push Maia’s hand further down. To touch him where all his senses seemed to be gathering. “If you do that, I will be _distracted_. I’m you’re only Nohecharis in the room right now. What if some situation develops happens while I’m…” He made an embarrassed sound that most resembled an angry cat.

Maia’s eyes grew wider, and wider still. Then he laughed a little. “So you want to call Cala in?” 

“What? Not at all!” 

Beshelar sat up, his whole body reminding him of his continued erection, and the nearness of Maia. 

“Wait, Beshelar stop. I should not have joked about it.” A hand rubbed his back, and there was nothing sensual about it. It was soothing, and comforting. 

He kept staring at one of the posts in the bed frame. “I might have laughed at you, were our situations reversed,” _were I capable of it_. “It’s an unusual situation to find one’s self in isn’t it?” 

“I’ve become accustomed to unexpected situations Beshelar.” A pause. The hand on his skin ceased moving. “And unexpected relationships. But if you don’t want this to happen again, I meant it when I said you could stop at any time.” 

“I should stop this,” Beshelar said, still afraid to look back. “But I don’t want to.”

“Ah?” Maia practically leaped up in excitement.

“Maybe it couldn’t hurt. For an hour. You were taught self-defense after all.”

Maia pressed his lips against the nape of Beshelar’s neck, but it was more of an impression of a smile than a kiss. “So I was.” 

Beshelar turned around, and let himself fall down and down into Maia’s arms. Beshelar was rolled onto his back, and was surprised when Maia traced the scar from the failed assassination. First with his fingers, and then with his tongue. And then his wrists were held down, and the two of them rocked together. Beshelar wanted to bite something to keep from moaning, but settled for kissing instead. There was no force in Maia’s grip, none at all. And yet Beshelar was giving up control. He was the one using his own discipline to finally let go, to experience love for this short, unobserved space in time. 

They lay together after, quite quiet. 

“We survived,” Maia joked. 

“We did.”

Soon they would return to formal speech. Soon 'Maia' would become 'Edrehasivar' in his thoughts again. Soon they would have to figure out the particulars of their relationship (because Beshelar knew, without asking, that this would happen many times in the future.) They would have to figure out how to relate to one another in private, as all the demands of the court spiraled around them.

But those considerations and questions could be shelved for a little while longer. Beshelar had become an expert of the emperor's restful silence, after all, and this was the best he had heard in ll their time together.


End file.
